


I Won't Back Down

by genevra1676



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Cursed Sam Winchester, Eventual Romance, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, POV First Person, POV Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Scared Sam Winchester, Season/Series 02, Secret Crush, Supportive Dean Winchester, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Truth Spells, Wincest - Freeform, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevra1676/pseuds/genevra1676
Summary: Sam has been hit by a witch's curse that not only forces him to answer any question truthfully but also requires him to reveal his deepest secret to the person it matters the most to by the following sundown or else die painfully.  If he and Dean can't find a way to counter the hex in time, is Sam willing to risk destroying his relationship with his brother, even to save his own life?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 97
Kudos: 236





	1. In a World that Keeps on Pushin' Me Around

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the ever-popular truth spell trope. This story is set in Season 2, sometime after 2.14 Born Under a Bad Sign, and is mostly canon-compliant.
> 
> The story and chapter titles are from "I Won't Back Down" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: The words in this story are mine, but the setting and characters belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, et al.

“Ugh, I hate witches!” I grumbled as I sat up and glared at the corpse lying a few feet away.

Dean snorted as he wiped his knife on the witch’s blouse, stood, and detoured around her body to get to me. “Ain’t that usually my line?”

“And now I’m agreeing with you,” I replied sourly before swiping at the fragrant, reddish powder clinging to my face.

He crouched next to me and examined me anxiously. “How’re you feeling, Sammy?”

“Other than my head aching from where she slammed me into the wall, I think I’m okay,” I said after a swift self-assessment. “Fortunately she didn’t seem to be all that powerful, so maybe her spell fizzled.”

“How often are we that fucking lucky? So I don’t wanna assume anything yet. Let’s find her stash and figure out what she was trying to do to you. Then we’ll have a better idea if it mighta worked or not,” he responded before grasping my forearms—being careful not to touch any of the substance on my hands—and helping me to my feet.

“You’re right—things usually aren’t that easy, at least not for us. Let’s see . . . I think her bedroom is that way.” I pointed towards a doorway off to one side of the great room.

Dean shook his head. “Nah, too obvious. If I was a psychotic bitch trying to hide my nasty-ass hobby from my yuppie neighbors, I’d keep my spooky shit someplace where none of ‘em could just stumble over it.”

He glanced around the room, then moved towards the kitchen. I stopped to scrape as much of the remaining residue from my skin as I could with a wet paper towel and watched while he cautiously opened each door he found. The first few led to nothing more than a powder room and a couple of closets, but the fourth revealed a staircase leading down. He tossed a grin over his shoulder at me, flicked on the light switch just inside the doorway, and descended. I dropped the soiled towel on the counter and quickly followed.

The basement seemed fairly typical at first glance, with a washer, dryer, and chest freezer in one corner and storage shelves and stacked plastic tubs filling most of the central space. A doorway just past the stairs led to the mechanical room, where the whirring of the heating unit could be heard. My brother headed for the far side of the room, where the edge of another door could be seen behind a pile of tacky Christmas decorations.

He shoved them aside and waved me over to the padlock sealing the door. It was a moment’s work with my lock picks to bypass it, and then we both yanked the door open. The small chamber within was dark, so we pulled out our flashlights and flicked them on.

“Yahtzee!” Dean exclaimed as the beams played over the occult symbols painted on the walls, the shelves holding jars and boxes of spell supplies, and the low altar covered by a black cloth and set with red candles, a couple animal skulls, a bloody chalice and dagger, a mortar and pestle, and a heavy tome with a reversed pentagram on the cover. Fixed to the wall above the altar were pictures of the three deceased victims and several other people, each with a sigil drawn in dried blood over their face.

I managed to grab the book, which presumably was the witch’s grimoire, and mortar before he flipped the altar over and doused it in holy water. After checking the shelves and removing anything dangerous, we headed back upstairs. Since we didn’t want to linger in case someone decided to investigate the sounds of the earlier fight, we hurriedly packed our gear, cleaned up any evidence of our presence, bundled up the corpse, and stealthily returned to the Impala. 

Dean of course insisted on spreading an old towel on the passenger seat before I was allowed to sit. Once we’d pulled away and gotten a few blocks between us and the house, he looked me over in concern. “You still doing okay, Sam? Nothing feeling weird yet?”

I shook my head. “Other than the back of my head still hurting, I feel fine. So either it’s slow-acting, or her casting was a dud.”

“Or it’s something more subtle,” he pointed out. “So let’s not count our chickens just yet.”

We first stopped at a forested area a distance outside of town to salt and burn the witch’s body and bury the remains. Back at our motel room, Dean hurriedly loaded the rest of our stuff into the car, and we drove for a couple of hours before checking into a different motel. My head was throbbing and my skin itching desperately under the dust crusted on it, but putting distance between us and any investigation into her disappearance took precedence.

Once inside the new room, I immediately headed for the bathroom, stripped off my contaminated clothes, and hopped into the shower to wash away any lingering spell particulates. Despite the plaid and thistle motif plastered everywhere, the Highland Motel was nicer than the usual places we stayed at, which at the moment meant good water pressure, an extended supply of hot water, and thick, soft towels. After scrubbing myself thoroughly clean, I dried off and realized that I’d forgotten to bring something to change into. In addition, my head was even sorer after the shower, though it didn’t feel different than any other time it had taken a hard blow.

I sighed, wrapped the towel around my waist, and emerged from the bathroom. There was no sign of my brother, so I swiftly dressed in a fresh t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. I then rummaged through our medical kit and was dismayed to see that we were out of aspirin or ibuprofen.

Just as I began to contemplate if the pain was worth taking something stronger, Dean walked in the door with a plastic bag and the ice bucket. He tossed me the bag, which contained a bottle of Advil in addition to the usual snacks. He then went into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water and a hand towel wrapped around some ice.

He sat down on the bed next to me, handed me the glass, and carefully pressed the homemade compress to the back of my head. “I figured your noggin would still be bothering you after that knock, so I walked over to the convenience store to get you some Vitamin I and filled up the ice bucket on my way back. Aren’t you lucky you got such an awesome brother?”

“Yeah, I am, Dean. I know I don’t say it much, but I really do appreciate how well you take care of me. You’ve been doing this all my life, and I should—” I trailed off in confusion, as that was _not_ what I meant to say.

He shrugged nonchalantly, though his freckled cheeks held a pleased flush. “Hey, that’s why I’m here—to look after my kid brother. Pop some pills and ice your head for a while. We’ll check out the bitch’s shit after dinner to make sure you’re okay. Speaking of which, do you want pizza, burgers, or Chinese?”

“We haven’t had Chinese in a while, so let’s go with that.” I then took four of the Advil and laid back while he searched for a menu and then called in our order.

After filling up on spring rolls, crab Rangoon, General Tso’s chicken, and house special fried rice and feeling significantly better, I cleared off the small dinette table to study the grimoire and the contents of the mortar from the altar. It took some time to identify the components, but I eventually determined the powder to be a mixture of basil, honeysuckle, juniper, primrose, and violet bound in dragon’s blood resin. From there, it was relatively simple to narrow down the spell the witch had used based on those ingredients and what I remembered of the incantation she’d shouted.

I stared in horror at the page after reading it over twice. “Fuck! Shit! No, no, _no_!”

Dean looked up in surprise from his bed, where he was cleaning some of our weapons. “What’s wrong, dude? What does that shit do? Is it gonna turn you into a goat or make your dick fall off?”

“God, I wish it was something that simple! It’s a fucking _truth_ spell, man. For as long as it lasts, I’m compelled to respond to any question with complete honesty,” I replied numbly.

His face filled with wicked older-brother glee. “This is priceless! So you gotta answer _anything_ that I ask right now, huh? Like where do you _really_ get that fancy-ass shampoo of yours, which I’ve never seen at any Walmart or CVS?”

“I order it from a website that makes customized hair care products and have it shipped to a PO box near Sioux— _dammit_ , Dean!” I broke off and glared at him. “Do you think this is _funny_? Do you truly think that with everything that’s been happening to me, all this crap that we don’t understand and can’t control, that being _forced_ to—to do this, to do _anything_ , is a source of fucking amusement?”

His expression sobered immediately. “Sorry, Sammy—I . . . I didn’t think of it like that. Well, it still ain’t that bad. As long as I watch what I say to you and don’t phrase it as a question, then this curse can’t do its thing. Main downside is that you’ll hafta hide out in our room until it wears off. We can’t risk you spilling the beans if some random person asks ‘bout what you do for a living or something.”

I laughed mirthlessly. “If only that was the worst of it! Unfortunately, that’s only the _first_ part of what she cast on me.”

“That don’t sound good!” He stood and took a step toward me. “What does . . . _shit_! Uh . . . I’m guessing that the second part is bad news then.”

I managed a brief smile, grateful for the effort he was making. “You’ve got that right! The rest of the hex states that if I don’t reveal my deepest, most shameful secret to the person it would affect the most before the next sundown, I’ll die in exactly the same horrible fashion as the other victims. And there’s nothing in the grimoire about how to counter this.”

“ _Sonofabitch_! The other person would hafta be me, I assume, since pretty much everyone else we knew well is dead except Bobby, and I doubt you’ve been holding anything serious out on him.” He waited until I nodded, then plastered a grin on his face. “Then you got nothing to worry ‘bout, since I already know everything about you. Like how serial killers give you a major hard-on, and that clowns make you piss yourself, and—”

“ _Dean_!” I shot to my feet and glowered at him.

“Sorry kiddo, just trying to lighten the mood.” He moved closer and put a hand on my shoulder. “Seriously though, we’ll figure something out. Just ‘cause this book doesn’t list a way to end the spell don’t mean there ain’t one out there. We can call Bobby to see what he can dig up, _and_ we can research this ourselves.”

I slumped and looked down. “And what if we can’t find anything, at least not before sunset tomorrow?”

He squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “It still ain’t the end of the world. I meant what I said, Sam—I already know you better than anybody. I know ‘bout the freaky shit that’s going on—your visions, moving that cabinet at the Millers’, being immune to Andy’s mind-whammy, not succumbing to the Croatoan virus—and how it’s all tied in somehow to the demon that killed Mom. And notice that I’m still here and got your back.

“What could be . . . _fuck_! What I mean is . . . I can’t imagine that your secret could be worse than the fucked-up crap that’s already happened to us. So if it comes to that, whatever you gotta tell me to meet the conditions of this goddamn enchantment, we’ll deal with it together. Okay?” He gave me an encouraging smile.

My response was to bolt out the door in panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another story I've been working on and off for a little while that I decided to start posting. This one isn't all that long (by my usual standards) and only has a couple more chapters left to be finished. Hope you enjoy this! :)
> 
> I have a tendency to not want to do something the expected way, the way that most people tend to do it. In the case of the truth spell trope, it seems like the majority of stories I've seen feature Dean being the one forced to tell the truth. This kind of bugs me, since it feels like it plays into the common fandom misconception than Dean is "repressed" or "doesn't understand" his own feelings, which couldn't be farther from the truth. Dean has a pretty good handle on his emotions and actually talks about them quite frequently, but only when and with whom he feels comfortable doing so--which doesn't always coincide with when those around him (especially Sam) want him to open up to them. It sometimes feels like people take his "no chick-flick moments" line from the Pilot as a defining characteristic instead of a simple deflection. 
> 
> On the other hand, while Sam is very good at discussing other people's feelings with them, he doesn't reveal his own nearly as often. And we know that Sam is capable of keeping a secret for a long time, even from his brother--like the revelation about Lucifer's true face. So I thought I'd see what happens when Sam is the one whammied by the truth spell instead of Dean.
> 
> This story will probably update every couple of weeks like the others to keep the buffer of completed chapters from running out. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make my day. :)


	2. I Got Just One Life

I didn’t go far, since I was barefoot and not dressed for the wintry weather. I made it to the alcove where the vending and ice machines were tucked away and braced my hands against the trash can. I sucked in deep breaths in an effort to keep from hyperventilating, while my heart hammered wildly.

I dimly heard Dean calling my name over the pounding in my ears. Moments later I felt his hands on my upper arms as he gently tugged me from the trash can and guided me towards the bench a few feet away. He pushed me down to sit and disappeared, returning in less than a minute with a bottle of water. After coaxing me to take a few swallows, he knelt in front of me and wrapped his hands around mine.

“Breathe, Sammy. Just calm down and take it easy,” he instructed. “That’s it, kiddo. Everything’s okay.”

I latched onto his soothing words and struggled to get my breathing under control. As my heart rate began to slow, I managed to gasp, “I—I’ll be alright, dude.”

“Uh huh, maybe I’ll believe that when you stop shaking like a Chihuahua after a double shot of expresso,” he retorted. “Least you don’t look like you’re gonna pass out now though. You wanna stay here ‘til you feel better or go back to our room?”

I shivered abruptly. “Let’s go back inside. Nothing’s going to make me feel better anytime soon, but freezing my ass off won’t improve the situation.”

He nodded approvingly. “Good, ‘cause I don’t wanna deal with you catching the flu or some shit out here. Now c’mon!”

Dean stood and helped me to my feet, then curled an arm around my waist and steered me back towards the open door of our motel room. I leaned into him as we walked, still feeling a bit unsteady on my feet. Once inside, he sat me down in the armchair by the heater, wrapped the blanket from his bed around me, and headed over to the kitchenette. He then presented me with a steaming cup of hot chocolate a couple minutes later.

“Thanks, man,” I said after taking a sip. “But you don’t need to keep fussing over me.”

“I’m the big brother, so I get to decide when I’m done,” he declared. “So shuddup and drink your damn cocoa!”

He waited until I finished drinking and set the mug down on the windowsill before crouching down in front of me and taking my hands again. “Now I want you to listen to me closely, little brother. I get that this spell’s got you seriously wigged out, ‘specially after all the shit you’ve been through lately. But _you_ need to understand this: there ain’t _nothing_ you could tell me that could drive me away from you. Nothing at all, you get that?”

I shook my head miserably. “You don’t know that, Dee. I—I know you believe what you’re saying, but . . . there are some things that are just unforgivable. A—and I think I’d rather _die_ than have you hate me!”

“Don’t you say that! You don’t get to check out on me!” he snapped, clenching my hands fiercely. “Remember Steve Wandell? I didn’t know you were possessed when we found his body, but I didn’t turn my back on you then, even though it looked like you’d murdered another hunter in cold blood. And d’ya know _why_? It’s ‘cause I _know_ you!

“I _know_ that you’re a good man who’d never do shit like that, which is how I figured out that you had to be possessed or controlled in some way. That also means that I _know_ that there ain’t anything that you’re capable of saying or doing that would change what I think. So don’t you fucking _dare_ doubt how I feel ‘bout you or use this as another goddamn excuse to bail on me!”

I stared down into his angry, desperate green eyes and had a sudden epiphany. Taking my secret literally to the grave would be an act of supreme selfishness, because the only feelings being spared would be mine. Dean would undoubtedly be furious and disgusted at learning the truth, but he’d eventually get over it and move on—whereas having to watch me die and not being able to stop it would _devastate_ him, even more than Dad’s death already had. And asking him to let the spell run its course would hurt him just as much as Dad’s deathbed warning or my own demands to kill me must’ve or even more. I couldn’t put him through any of that simply to avoid dealing with the personal fallout of revealing my secret. I had to stop thinking only about myself and put my brother’s needs first right now.

“You’re right. You’ve always been there for me, ever since we were little—in fact, you’re the _only_ one who I’ve always been able to rely on,” I told him, doing my best to avoid anything the spell could construe as a lie. “So I’ll do my best to trust in you, and I won’t give up without a fight.”

I then slid out of the chair and down onto my knees and threw my arms around him. As his came up to encircle me, I buried my face in my big brother’s shoulder and embraced him frantically, since there might not be any more hugs in my future after tomorrow evening. He patted my back comfortingly and let me squeeze him like an oversized teddy bear for several minutes.

“Alright, that’s more like what I wanna hear, dude,” he said when I finally let go. “Besides, it might not even come to that, if we can find a way to stop the spell first. Either way, we’re gonna kick this thing in the ass _together_ , okay?”

“Yeah, I get it. We’re a team, and I won’t let you down,” I responded.

He got up and pulled me to my feet before nudging me in the direction of the table. “Of course you won't. You go online and see if you can find anything ‘bout spells like this. I’m gonna call Bobby to get him to start searching for answers on his end, and then I’ll check Dad’s journal for anything useful. Sound like a plan?”

“It does, and a pretty good one too. Thanks, Dean,” I replied with a genuine smile as I sat down and opened my laptop.

He nodded, pulled out his phone, and put it on speaker before dialing. “Hey Bobby, it’s Dean. We took care of that witch, but we got a major complication. The bitch managed to cast a spell on Sam before I could gank her, the same one she’d been using on anyone who pissed her off around here.”

“Damn witches always are a pain in the ass to deal with! Alright, so you need my help figuring out what he’s been hexed with?” Bobby asked.

“Nah, we grabbed her spellbook, and Sam was able to identify the curse. It mostly seems like a fairly standard truth spell, where it forces him to answer any question honestly. But this one’s got a nasty fucking kicker riding on it that’ll kill him by sunset tomorrow if he doesn’t reveal his worst secret to the person involved,” Dean explained. “This musta been what caused the first three deaths here, since I’m guessing those poor bastards didn’t ‘fess up in time. It would also explain all the fights and breakups we’ve heard about in this town in the past few weeks.”

“Sounds like the kind of petty mayhem a witch of her level would stir up,” Bobby said in agreement. “I take it that her grimoire didn’t include any methods for ending the spell safely, so now you need help finding a solution.”

“Yeah, that’s about right. Sam’s willing to spill his guts if push comes to shove, but we’d rather avoid him being forced to do that if possible. We’re checking out what we can here, but we’ve got less than twenty-four hours to come up with an answer. So anything you can dig up would be great,” Dean answered.

“I’ll do my best and get back to you as soon as I’ve got something. You boys take care until then.” Bobby hung up.

The next several hours were spent buried in research, as Dean pored through our dad’s journal while I waded through one occult website after another. The few references we found to similar enchantments generally suggested that the only option was to let them run their course. The only other recourse we could come up with were some general counterspells Bobby pulled from his library.

It was well past midnight when Dean thumped the journal closed and yawned. “I dunno ‘bout you, but I’m beat, man. I say we call it a night and hit the sack. Tomorrow morning I’ll head out and pick up the ingredients we need for those spells while you keep looking.”

“Yeah, okay.” I sat back and rubbed my hands over my face. “I just hope one of them works!”

“We got this, buddy. Bobby said these counters are some pretty strong mojo and have been used to take down stronger shit than what we’re up against.” He patted my shoulder in encouragement before shuffling off to the bathroom.

I went in and washed up after he was done. When I left the bathroom, he was already under the covers of the bed closer to the door, though he wasn’t asleep yet. I hesitated at the side of my bed, as this could be my last night with my brother . . .

“Hey, um . . . would you mind if I . . . if I slept with you tonight?” I asked diffidently.

His brows rose. “Really, dude? The last time we shared a bed, you were a _helluva_ lot smaller!”

“Yes, really. It . . . it would make me feel a lot better. _Please_ , Dee?” I was not above breaking out the puppy-dog eyes to get what I needed.

“Fine, c’mere ya pathetic sasquatch! You’re lucky that this room has two queens instead of two doubles,” he groused as he shifted to one side of the bed.

I lifted up the sheets and comforter and slid underneath. Despite his grumbling, he didn’t voice a complaint when I curled up against him and threw an arm over his chest. Instead he sighed and tugged my head down to rest on his shoulder, then began gently stroking my hair. The bed was a tight fit for two guys of our size, but being cuddled together like this brought back the safe, soothing feeling from when we slept like this as children.

“Damn, this thing’s really got you freaked out, huh?” Dean murmured sympathetically. “You can’t let this hex get to you, Sammy. We’ve faced down tougher shit before, and we’ll figure out how to beat this too. Like I told you before, as long as I’m around, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you.”

“I—I’m _scared_ , man. I’m trying to be strong, to believe in what you’ve been telling me, but . . . it’s not easy. I—I _can’t_ lose you!” I admitted.

“And you won’t. I’m always gonna be here for you, little brother—no matter what. Now go to sleep,” he said. “Things will be better tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sam's a little calmer now, since Dean has a plan to try to kick this curse in the ass and is doing his best to help his little brother keep it together. Of course, this calm will only last as long as their attempts to end the spell are successful, so we'll have to see how that pans out. 
> 
> This version of Sam is also a little more enlightened, since in canon clearly he (and John) didn't realize how much his demands that Dean kill him if necessary hurt his brother (this was also when Sam was still fairly self-absorbed emotionally). I tend to write my characters has having more of a clue than in canon in general, since it's frequently frustrating how obtuse the boys are regarding each other--and how much easier things could be if they TALKED to one another--so hey, why not fix that in fan fiction?
> 
> Another chapter should go up in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make me a happy writer. :)


	3. There Ain't No Easy Way Out

It was a little past dawn when I woke up, and the other side of the bed was empty. As I sat up and stretched, I noticed Dean’s jacket and boots were gone. That was a bit surprising, since he usually preferred sleeping in until I brought back coffee after my morning run. Considering that I was essentially under self-imposed house arrest though, I supposed the turnaround was for the best. The night’s rest in my big brother’s arms had done me good—I was feeling calmer and more optimistic as I got up.

When I emerged from the bathroom after showering, shaving, and dressing, Dean was back and was dropping several bags onto the kitchenette’s peeling countertop. He handed me a large cup of what turned out to be a nonfat chai latte and a foil-wrapped breakfast sandwich, then proceeded to empty the other bags and stow their contents in one of the cupboards or the small refrigerator.

I watched his industriousness with a quirked brow. “Do you know what time it is? Who are you, and what did you do with the real Dean Winchester?”

“Bite me, funny boy. I hafta get an early start ‘cause the podunk towns ‘round here won’t have the shit we need, and the nearest decent-sized city is nearly three hours away, even at _my_ speed,” he retorted while closing the fridge. “Sunset’s a little after five-thirty today, so I wanna make sure to get back in plenty of time to try out as many of these rituals as it takes.

“That being said, I dunno if I’ll be back by lunchtime, so I got you a turkey wrap and Greek salad. There’s also a coupla bottles of soda and some snacks to tide you over. Before I go, check your breakfast thingie to make sure the diner got it right, okay?”

I unwrapped the sandwich—egg white, low-fat cheese, and Canadian bacon on a whole wheat bagel—and looked back at my brother appreciatively. Dean could be an obnoxious jerk sometimes, but he never failed to show how much he cared in ways both small and large.

“It looks—and smells—great! Thanks, man, for all of this—not just the food,” I told him. “I—I don’t know what I’d do—”

“Hey, I’m just doing my job, watching out for my overgrown little brother,” he interrupted with a deprecating shrug. “You hole up in here ‘til I get back and see if you can dig anything else up on this spell. Gimme a call if anything major comes up.”

“You watch out too, dude. We’re still on the FBI’s shit list the last I checked,” I pointed out.

He grimaced. “I hear ya—last thing we need right now is a run-in with fucking Henriksen and his jackbooted buddies! Fortunately, I did a bit of research on your laptop before going on the grub run, and there’s a hunter-friendly occult shop where I’m heading. So hopefully I won’t need to make any other stops besides to fill up my Baby.” He then grabbed the list of spell components, gave my hair a quick ruffle, and left.

I wolfed down my breakfast and fired up my laptop. I started by checking various sites that were more obscure or less reliable than the ones we generally preferred to use, then moved on to cracking my way into a few university libraries. I also called Ash and gave him a quick rundown of my predicament, since he had access to esoteric resources that even Bobby didn’t. He took down the pertinent details and promised to call back if he found anything worthwhile.

Unfortunately the next several hours weren’t any more productive than the previous night. Like then, my research turned up several variants on truth spells, but none corresponded exactly to the one that had been cast on me. Most were relatively harmless and would dissipate on their own in a day’s or a week’s time. Even the ones that required some condition to be met before ending weren’t intended to be deadly. 

I also tried looking into the more fatal aspect of my hex with the same lack of results. There were plenty of dark invocations and curses designed to kill their targets, both with and without conditions, but as with the truth spells none were a close enough match to mine, at least not that I could find. And while I did uncover numerous methods to block or end many of these conjurations, there was simply not enough time to determine which, if any, might work in this case, particularly in combination with the truth spell.

Dean returned a little after one o’clock, once again loaded down with bags. He looked at my dejected expression and asked, “No luck finding a solution yet, huh?”

“No, I couldn’t find a damn thing, and neither could Bobby or Ash! Or to be more exact, we found _too_ much—we uncovered all sorts of truth spells, death spells, bad things will happen if you don’t do X spells, et cetera, but none matched up to what that bitch had been casting,” I replied, dragging my hands through my hair tiredly. “Without some kind of match, there’s no way to easily tell which of the counters to all those different spells might be effective, and there isn’t enough time in the four hours we have left to test all the possible permutations and combinations.”

“Yeah, the owner of the shop said this sounds like a custom job, that whoever wrote the grimoire kit-bashed this fucking thing from bits of other spells and maybe put their own twist on it.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a shake. “But listen to me, Sammy—we ain’t giving up! We’ll try the spells Bobby gave us, and if none of ‘em do the trick then we’ll work through the ones you dug up until we figure it out.”

“And if we don’t find the right one in time?”

“Then you tell me your deep, dark secret, I tell you that you’re an idiot for making such a big deal over whatever it is, and we move on with our crappy lives like usual. Now come on—sitting around moping ain’t gonna solve anything. Let’s get this dump cleaned up for some spellcasting!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.

Our first order of business was shoving the furniture and our belongings to the edges of the room and clearing away the crumpled notes, discarded food wrappers, and other detritus. Next was cleansing the area, for which Dean first raided the housekeeping cart to give a ten-foot circle in the center of the room a good scrubbing and then cast a couple of purifying rituals over the results. I too had to be cleansed, so while he worked I took a scalding hot shower with a pungent herbal rinse we concocted. 

I then stood in the center of the casting circle he’d drawn in chalk on the carpet, and we began to carefully follow the instructions Bobby gave us for the first of the counterspells. A couple of the spells simply involved chanting, while others required smudging herbs or resins around me, tossing powders over me, or painting sigils on me. After each casting, my brother asked me an inane question to test if the curse was broken, and after each failure my heart grew progressively heavier. All total, we got through the three spells from Bobby and a handful of the others that we had the components for before the alarm Dean had set went off.

He slapped the clock off. “Oh, come on! I _know_ we cast these damn things properly! One of ‘em shoulda fucking worked!”

I shrugged listlessly in response. “Maybe there’s something we missed? She could’ve changed the wording of the incantation or the composition of the casting powder from what’s in the grimoire. Or she made a pact with someone or some _thing_ to give her spells increased power. Or there’s some other variable that we haven’t thought of. Not that it matters now.”

He flopped down in the armchair. “Yeah, we don’t have time to figure that out, not with only twenty minutes to sundown. Sorry, kiddo—I really hoped we wouldn’t hafta go here, but you gotta tell me your secret now.”

“I—I know. Just . . . give me a few minutes, okay? This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I get that, man, and I’d give you as much time as you needed if I could,” he said sympathetically. “But we don’t know how literal this spell is ‘bout the time limit, so we don’t wanna push our luck too far. We’re down to the wire and don’t have any other choice left. Take five if you hafta, but then we’ve gotta do this.”

Technically there _was_ another option, but I’d already resolved not to inflict that on my brother. Instead I studied his face intently to commit every detail, down to the curve of each eyelash and the placement of each freckle, to memory in case this turned out to be my last opportunity to see him. I then took a deep breath, because there was no point in postponing the inevitable.

However, when I tried to speak, my throat closed up—after so many years of ruthlessly repressing my feelings, apparently my subconscious wasn’t ready to let go easily. My heart began to pound, and I had to struggle to not hyperventilate. Eventually I managed to gasp, “You . . . you ha—have to _ask_. I—I can’t . . . I—”

“Alright, calm down, calm down. I gotcha, buddy. It’s gonna be okay.” Dean leaned forward and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Sam, what’s your worst secret? What are you so afraid to tell me?”

“Oh, oh _God_!” I collapsed to my knees and looked up at him despairingly. “Dean, I . . . I _love_ you.”

His expression turned puzzled. “Well yeah, I know _that_. We’re brothers, so of course we love each oth—”

“No, I don’t mean I love you as _family_ —or not only like that,” I interrupted desperately. “I’m _in love_ with you, dumbass! I—I love you more than anyone I’ve ever known, even Jess! I want to be with you in every sense of the word—fraternally, platonically, romantically, erotically, the whole nine yards. Do you _get_ it now?”

I dropped my head, panting heavily, and braced myself for his reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sam! Of course, there wouldn't be much of a story if the boys had actually managed to break the curse, so he had to reveal his deep, dark secret. And because I'm wicked and evil, you'll have to wait until the next update for Dean's reaction. ;P
> 
> That update should be in a couple of weeks. In the meantime, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	4. Well, I Know What's Right

I kept my gaze fixed on the carpet as I heard my brother whisper, “ _Sonofabitch_!” and fall back against the chair.

After several minutes of silence, I cautiously looked up to find him staring at me with wide, astonished eyes. When the quiet continued to stretch out, I begged, “C’mon, Dee—say something, _please_!”

Dean shuddered and cleared his throat. “How . . . how long?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never really—” I paused for a moment and gave the question some serious thought. “It’s been all my life, I think. When I was a kid, you were _everything_ —not just my brother but also my father, my mother, my best friend, my teacher, my protector, my _hero_. I not only wanted to be like you, I wanted to be with you forever, to make you as happy and proud of me as I was of you and to take care of you like you always did for me. I didn’t understand why people would tell me it wasn’t possible when I said I’d marry you some day, and even when they said brothers weren’t supposed to be together like that, I still didn’t care because those rules couldn’t apply to _us_.

“As I grew older and hit puberty, my feelings changed and became less . . . innocent. You became the star of my wet dreams and masturbatory fantasies, the one I fantasized I was actually with when I went out with someone else, the one I truly wanted to have my first date, first kiss, and first everything else with. At the same time, I finally understood how _wrong_ what I felt was,” I explained. “That’s when I insisted on sleeping in my own bed, began avoiding hugs and other signs of intimacy, and stopped confiding in you for the most part.”

“Damn! For years I wondered what I did wrong, if I’d said or done something to make you not wanna be around me anymore.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Was that why you ran away to Stanford?”

“I’m _so_ sorry, Dee! I . . . I’ve had a bad habit up until now of only thinking about my emotions and not considering how my actions might affect you, and I’m going to try to do better from now on,” I replied contritely. “My—my crush on you wasn’t the only reason why I left for college, but it _was_ a major factor. I thought if I could put some distance between us, I’d be able to get over my sick obsession. But when you kept calling, texting, and visiting, I realized I couldn’t move on as long as you were still around . . . so I intentionally picked that huge fight and drove you away for two years. I’m sorry for that too, and how it must’ve made you feel.”

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he responded almost automatically. “Did I—did I _do_ something to make you feel this way?”

I sat up straight and grabbed his hands. “ _No_! None of this has ever been _your_ fault! You didn’t corrupt me or any crap like that. You’re the awesome big brother who’s always been there for me, who’s often been the _only_ one there for me. If we weren’t family, no one would blame me for falling for you.

“If anyone deserves any criticism besides me, it’d be Dad. The way he raised us—the secrecy, the constant moving around, the insistence that we couldn’t trust anyone else, and all the rest of his bullshit—I know you don’t want to hear it, but what he did to us wasn’t right. I read all sorts of books and articles in college on attachment disorders, codependency, and other psychobabble to try to explain how he fucked us up.

“But the truth is that this mess is still mostly on me. I might not have been able to help how I felt when I was a kid, but once I was old enough to know better, once I truly understood what was going on, I should’ve tried harder to find a way to _stop_. I deluded myself into thinking I’d gotten better with Jess, but I figured out over the months I was mourning her that our relationship was just a placebo, and a big part of my grief was guilt over not loving her the way she deserved,” I admitted.

“I never wanted you to find out about this, about how much of an unnatural freak I really am. There were even times I tried to convince myself that this fixation was due to the demon blood, but deep down I’ve always known that the fault lies in me. But I promise that I have these feelings under control, that I’d never act on them or do anything to make you uncomfortable or hurt you,” I concluded earnestly.

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “Dude, that ain’t even a blip on my radar. Aside from the fact that I can still kick your ass if I have to, I know you’re not that kinda guy, okay?”

He then looked out the window, where the sun had clearly sunk below the horizon, and back at me. “Well, you haven’t expired messily like the others, so that’s a good sign. Let’s test the rest of this shitty curse. Sam, is it true that you’re a card-carrying member of the Britney Spears fan club?”

“Really, jerk? Eat me,” I retorted.

“Congratulations, bitch—looks like you’re cured.” He then stood, pulling me up with him, and turned to deposit me in the seat he’d just vacated. “Listen, I—I gotta go out and drive around or something. This is some heavy shit you’ve laid on me, and I need some time to myself to wrap my head around it. I swear, I ain’t pissed at you, and this ain’t some attempt to ditch you. I’ll be back in a coupla hours tops, and I’ll bring back something for dinner. If you need me before then, you call me. And _don’t_ do anything stupid like trying to run off—I want to see you here when I get back, _capisce_?”

I nodded wordlessly, and he put on his jacket and grabbed his keys. To my surprise, he bent down to give me a quick hug before leaving the motel room. I knew he meant what he said about coming back, but a part of me deep down firmly believed that I wouldn’t see him again. He hadn’t immediately and vehemently rejected me as I’d been expecting, probably due to shock, but he’d come to his senses soon enough.

I sat there for quite a while, contemplating the end of my life as I knew it. I eventually managed to push everything to the back of my mind until only white noise was buzzing in my head and worked on cleaning up the ritual materials and putting the room back to its original configuration. I then packed up all of my belongings, since I might as well be prepared for the inevitable. I ended up sitting at the foot of my bed with something mindless on the TV, though I really wasn’t paying much attention to the movie.

Dean returned a little over two hours after he’d left, with a calm expression and a large paper bag. He put the bag down on the table and started removing plastic containers from it as he spoke. “Sorry I didn’t get back sooner, but I wanted to get something nicer than the usual takeout crap, and the restaurant took a while to get our order ready. Let’s eat while this is still hot, and then we’ll talk, okay?”

I simply nodded again, my eyes fixed on his face, which still didn’t show any signs of anger or disgust. He handed me two containers, a set of plastic utensils, and a bottle of beer. The one container held a Caesar salad with hard-boiled eggs, sliced mushrooms, bacon, and pine nuts, while the other had chicken parmigiana over spaghetti with a side of roasted vegetables and a couple breadsticks. I couldn’t help but feel a little heartened that he’d made an effort to get what I liked, particularly since my brother often showed how he cared through food. The next twenty minutes or so were quiet, other than him asking if I wanted to share his fried calamari and making satisfied sounds over his lasagna.

Once we’d finished our meal and put the leftovers away, he sat down near me and put a container of cannoli between us. He waited until I took one before saying, “Sorry I left you here stewing for so long, but I needed some alone time to figure out how I felt ‘bout what you told me.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, Dean. I’m the one who’s fucked up, not you,” I pointed out.

He snorted. “Dude, with everything we’ve gone through, we’re _both_ pretty fucked up. It don’t change the fact that you’re upset, and leaving you alone like that was kinda a dick move. I had to do it, no way ‘round that, but I’m still sorry that I probably made you feel worse while I was out.

“Here’s what I hope will make up for that—I’m _not_ mad at you, Sammy. Or disappointed or skeeved out or any shit like that. I’m not planning to dump you, and I don’t want you to leave either—so you can unpack those bags I see over there! Like I told you earlier, if thinking you killed another hunter when Meg was riding you wasn’t enough to make me bail, then finding out that you’re in love me ain’t gonna either. You’re still my baby brother, and I want you in my life just as much now as I did before I knew.”

Dean then paused and took my hands before continuing. “Just to be clear though, I . . . I don’t feel the same way about you, okay? Don’t get me wrong—you’ve been the most important person in my life since the day you were born, and I can’t imagine loving anyone else more than I do you. I love you as my brother and my kid and best friend . . . but that’s _it_. I’ll never be attracted to you like—like that ‘cause you’re a guy—not that there’s anything wrong with it, but you know I don’t swing that way. And I just can’t imagine being _into_ the same kid I raised from diapers as I would a—a girlfriend or wife or something.”

“Don’t worry, Dee—I never expected you to reciprocate my feelings. You still being here as my brother and everything else is _more_ than enough.” I squeezed his hands in reassurance and studied his face. “So you’re not freaked out at all? The . . . the incest thing doesn’t bother you?”

He shrugged. “Look at what we do on a daily basis—we lie to everyone who ain’t a hunter, we impersonate cops and Feds, break and enter, steal, vandalize, and destroy property, and desecrate graves as a regular part of our job, not to mention committing credit card fraud and hustling cards, darts, pool, you name it, to get by. Our moral code has always been more than a little off by society’s standards. Like you said, our childhood was way more _Flowers in the Attic_ than _Leave It to Beaver_ , so it ain’t no surprise that we feel more intensely ‘bout each other than ‘normal’ brothers, even without being in love. And the way I see it, a theoretical relationship between us wouldn’t hurt anyone, since we’re both consenting adults and can’t have inbred babies.

“I mean, I hafta admit that your secret does weird me out some, but _only_ ‘cause I never expected something like this, not ‘cause of any damn taboo. I just need some time to get used to it, that’s all. To be honest, I’m actually kinda . . . flattered? You’re smart, talented, brave, caring, yadda yadda, and even _I_ can tell that you’re super-hot. You could have pretty much anyone you want, someone just as special as you, like Jess. Yet you want a schlub like me? It’s hard not to feel at least a _little_ good ‘bout that.” He pulled a hand free to rub the back of his neck, a faint flush staining his cheeks.

I opened my mouth and then realized now was not the time to delve into my brother’s self-esteem issues. Instead, I replied, “Well . . . thanks, man. I—I’m pretty floored right now too. I’ve convinced myself for _years_ that you’d hate me and want nothing to do with me if you ever found out about how I truly feel. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that you’d _accept_ this! To have you still here like this, to know that you’re honestly trying to understand this mess . . . this is more than I could ever hope for. At the risk of making you uncomfortable, _this_ is exactly why I love you.”

Dean blushed even brighter and cleared his throat. “Okay, I think that’s enough chick-flick moments to last us ‘til the next decade. Let’s just chill out for a while and finish our dessert, then call it a night.”

He grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels until he found something we’d both enjoy. He didn’t object when I joined him on his bed and simply pushed the cannoli container closer as we settled down to watch _Kingdom of Heaven_. Nor did he say anything when, after we’d washed up and changed once the movie was over, I crawled under the covers and curled up next to him. He wrapped an arm around me and pressed a kiss to my temple, and I drifted off to sleep feeling more content than I had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Dean's reaction was worth the wait after ending the last chapter on a bit of a cliffhanger. As I mentioned in the note at the end of the first chapter, I tend to not want to follow the trend and do the same thing as everyone else. In the case of the truth spell trope, the usual reaction to Character A revealing their secret love is Character B essentially saying, "OMG, me too!" and then happy sexy times happens. That's certainly enjoyable, don't get me wrong, but I wanted to do something different. However, I didn't want to go down the route that poor Sam had been expecting for so long, of Dean being horrified and leaving, kicking Sam out, beating the crap out of him, or some other negative response. First, I didn't want to make this story truly angsty like that. Second, given Dean's general disdain for "normal" society and its rules, rules which he and his family break on a regular basis, I can't see him being so upset over the incest taboo as long as no one, particularly Sam, is being hurt. Instead I decided to go with Dean being accepting and even supportive in his own way, but without reciprocating the romantic/sexual feelings. It's not a reaction I've seen too often in any variant of the "Sam/Dean finds out his brother is in love with him" type of story, and hopefully folks enjoy it.
> 
> Sorry this chapter went up rather late--this week my department started scheduling us in the office for a full day twice a week in addition to working from home, so I got home a bit late and then got sucked into Tumblr for a while. The next update should be posted in a couple of weeks as usual. Constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make me a happy kitty. :)


	5. I'll Keep This World From Draggin' Me Down

I woke up the next morning to Dean fast asleep beside me, his arm laying over my chest and his head resting against my shoulder. I quietly slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to change into my running clothes, discreetly taking care of the obvious side effect of spending the night pressed against him while in there. He was still completely out when I left the motel room and went for a jog around the neighborhood, such as it was.

He was just starting to stir when I returned an hour later, carrying a plain black coffee and another nonfat chai latte from what I’d guessed was the same diner. After he’d imbibed enough caffeine to transform from surly bear to only mildly grumpy human, I left him to wake up the rest of the way on his own and took a shower. Once he’d cleaned up and changed as well, we decided to walk to that diner for breakfast.

“How can I help you two today? Oh! You came in yesterday morning to get a takeout breakfast order.” Our waitress, a pretty brunette in a flatteringly tight top, smiled brightly at Dean, and I inwardly sighed and waited for his typical response.

Dean however simply gave her a polite smile. “Thanks for noticing, ma’am. My brother wasn’t feeling well yesterday, so I had to pick up food for him. But he’s better today, so here we are!” He directed a much wider grin at me.

“No need to be so formal, sugar! It’s so sweet, you looking out for him like that. So, what will you have?” She leaned over as she spoke to give my brother a clear view of her . . . assets.

She took our orders and left, noticeably disappointed at not getting the reaction she’d wanted. I contemplated the surprising lack of flirting as well, before writing it off as Dean still being tired or distracted from the previous day’s events.

“How are you doing, Sammy?” he inquired while we waited for our food. “Yesterday was pretty damn stressful, and that’s on top of how crappy the past several months have been. I think maybe we should take it easy for a while—try to stick to milk runs if we can, maybe go see a movie or catch a game or something. Whaddya think?”

I swallowed my mouthful of orange juice. “Honestly, I’m feeling really good for the most part. It’s such a relief to know that you don’t think I’m a disgusting freak because of . . . you know. I agree though that a breather right now would be good—we won’t be much help to anyone if we run ourselves ragged. Are _you_ okay though? What happened yesterday was a big deal for you too.”

“Yeah, I’m doing fine, I think. Still processing the uh, new information ‘bout our relationship, but I’m still glad to be here with you.” He gave me another smile. “And dude, you _are_ a freak, but not ‘cause of this. I mean, you got a dead Yorkie sitting on top of your head, this obsession with rabbit food ain’t natural, and—”

“Dork!” I stuck my tongue out before grinning back at him.

“So . . . something else I’ve been wondering about. I’m guessing you like dudes in general as well as chicks, right? How come you never told me before? You didn’t think I’d be pissed ‘bout _that_ , do you?” he asked a little plaintively.

“No, of course not—I know you better than that!” I assured him hastily. “I think . . . I think the reason I kept quiet about my sexuality is that it was too close to my _other_ secret. I was too worried that you’d notice that the guys I was attracted to looked just like you and then figure out the rest. Plus before Stanford I was too loaded down with teenaged hormones and angst to want to talk to anyone, and after Stanford I was still getting over Jess and not looking to hook up for quite a while.”

“Huh! Guess that makes sense,” he said. “Well, I hope you realize now that you _can_ come to me with anything, man. I can’t promise there won’t be some teasing involved, but I _will_ listen.”

I nodded. “I do, Dee. And you were right—I _was_ making a bigger deal about my secret than I needed to. Probably could’ve saved myself a lot of heartache if I’d trusted you sooner.”

He smirked. “What was that you just said? You wanna repeat that—the part where I was right?”

“Shuddup, asshole!” I laughed and threw a sweetener packet at his forehead.

We took our time packing up when we returned to the motel and then drove west for several hours towards Hastings after I looked up what seemed to be a straightforward salt-and-burn case. The room we checked into, while nothing fancy, was a nice upgrade from the usual sketchy motel. It was furnished with a platform king bed with built-in nightstands, sofa with end table and matching ottomans, large flat screen TV over the dresser, desk and chair, mini-fridge, microwave, and coffee maker, and everything looked well-kept and inviting, with no funky odors or mystery stains.

The cleanliness wasn’t the first thing I noticed, however. “Hey dude, did they give us the wrong room? There’s only one bed.”

Dean looked a little self-conscious. “No, this is what I asked for. I figured . . . it looked like we both felt better sharing a bed the past coupla nights. So why not keep doing it if we both want it, and we might as well be more comfortable while we’re at it. Besides, the sofa is a sleeper if one of us changes our mind. This—this is what you want, right?”

“It is—it reminds me of how safe I felt and how close we were when we were kids,” I replied. “You’re sure it doesn’t bother you though, knowing how I feel?”

“This was my idea, remember?” he pointed out as he sat down on the bed. “I _trust_ you, Sam. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t. So just chill and come check out this mattress. It’s frigging _sweet_!”

I smiled and joined him in flopping back on the bed. “Alright, this _is_ pretty nice. But the research isn’t going to do itself, so it’s not time to slack off just yet!”

We wrapped up the case in less than two days, which gave us time to visit the Bigfoot Crossroads Museum of America (which in turn meant having to put up with sasquatch jokes from my idiot brother for the rest of the day) and catch a showing of _Children of Men_ before leaving town. We then moved on to a cursed locket in Medicine Bow, a small pack of chupacabra outside of Los Lunas, and a haunted house near Boulder City. Each time we stayed in a nicer motel than our norm and found something enjoyable to do afterward, such as hiking in the Medicine Bow-Routt National Forest, touring part of Route 66, or of course visiting Las Vegas.

During these few weeks, I kept a close eye on my brother, since a large part of me couldn’t quite believe that he’d accepted my feelings for him so well and was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Try as I might though, I couldn’t detect any sign of anger or disgust toward me, nor any aversion to being around me. In fact, what I saw to my utter bafflement was the exact opposite.

Sharing a bed continued by mutual agreement, even when a room with a king bed wasn’t available. Dean returned to the level of brotherly affection he’d showered on me before my surly adolescence—ruffling my hair, throwing an arm around my shoulders, resting a hand on my back, patting my face or chest, and so on. He barely paid attention to attractive witnesses, pretty waitresses, or inviting barflies, openly preferring to spend his time with me instead. Most of all, he actually seemed _happier_ now than before he’d learned my secret—drinking less, humming and singing more, smiling sometimes for no reason, and the whole nine yards.

“Dude, what is _up_ with you?” I finally burst out on our third morning in Vegas, as Dean slid a Western omelet in front of me. Our suite had come with a full kitchen, which he’d taken advantage of to cook for us several times already.

His brow wrinkled in confusion while sitting down with his own omelet, this one loaded down with ham, cheese, and mushrooms. “Whaddya mean? Is there something wrong with your food? I promise, I didn’t spit in it or—”

“No, no, I’m sure it’s just as delicious as everything else you’ve made,” I interrupted impatiently. “I’m talking about how you haven’t been intentionally obnoxious, like playing the cassettes I like the least on repeat, singing as off-key as possible, or eating in public like an absolute barbarian, in ages. Or how you’re constantly . . . petting me like when I was a little kid. I’m not complaining or anything, but . . . who are you, and what did you do with the real Dean Winchester?”

“Ha ha, you’re still not funny. I just figured . . . you told me the only reason you wanted me to stop hugging you and shit back then was you were ashamed of how you felt. But since you don’t hafta feel bad anymore, I thought it was okay to go back to how we used to be with each other. But if—if I crossed some kinda line and you don’t want me to touch you, or—or you think I’m fucking with you somehow, I . . . I can stop.” He looked crestfallen.

I reached over the small table and squeezed his hands reassuringly. “No, Dee—I like it, I do! And I know you’re not trying to lead me on or anything like that.”

“Well, the rest of it was ‘cause that was ‘bout the only way I could get you to pay attention to me. When you didn’t wanna talk to me or have any friendly contact with me, being an ass was all I had left to get a reaction outta you. It ain’t like I _enjoy_ eating like a pig or butchering my singing voice. And by the time you came back, I guess it’d kinda gotten to be a habit.” His shoulders had hunched a bit as he spoke, but then he raised his head and smiled at me. “But now that I know that you didn’t actually hate me or not want me around, there’s no need for the act.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, the shame at how thoughtless my younger self had been washing over me again, before continuing. “What about the girls though? You haven’t really hooked up with anyone since—since you found out. I know there was that quickie in the bar bathroom at Winslow, but you turned down spending more time with her even when I told you to.”

He shrugged somewhat self-consciously. “I dunno, Sam. It just seems . . . insensitive to make out with some chick right in front of you, knowing how you feel. It’s more than that though, since I know you don’t want me to—to deprive myself ‘cause of you. 

“Don’t get me wrong—I still love sex as much as the next guy. But being with someone’s never just been ‘bout getting my dick wet. It’s also about having a connection with someone, of feeling like they care ‘bout you, even if it’s only for one night. All the moving around, never being able to keep friends or have a real relationship, hasn’t been easy for me either, you know. So I learned early on to get as much as I could from those passing hookups as I could.

“Now though . . . it’s different. I know now that you really do wanna be here with me, so why would I wanna spend the evening with some woman I barely know than with you? You’re my best friend as well as my brother, and I’d rather hang out with you than anyone else,” he explained.

“Is that why you’re so happy now, because you’re finally getting the attention and affection you deserve from me?” I asked softly.

“I dunno that I’d put it like _that_ , ‘cause it ain’t like you were ignoring me in the last year or anything. But I figure . . . if you love me like this, maybe you’ll actually stay with me afterward when we finally gank the Yellow-Eyed Demon and this is all over. Even if we can’t be together the way you want.” Dean looked down as he finished speaking.

“Oh, Dee . . .” I got up, went around the table, and pulled him into a hug. “I really _am_ happy to be here with you, and I won’t leave you again, even after we avenge Mom and Dad. We can decide at that point if we want to keep hunting or settle down, but I promise that we’ll do it _together_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little late! I came down with a migraine last Wednesday night which lasted well into Thursday, so I decided to postpone the update until the following Wednesday. 
> 
> Not a whole lot going on in this chapter, just some brotherly feels as the boys try to get used to the change in their relationship. Sam spent so long expecting the worst that he still can't quite believe that Dean actually accepts his feelings. Dean meanwhile is hoping he might actually get the one thing he really wants--for Sam not to leave him when their quest is over.
> 
> I hope people are still enjoying this story, since the previous chapter only got 1 comment. I try to not be too needy as a writer, but it's hard not be be concerned at a sudden drop like that. If there's anything that's not working or something, please let me know. As always, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make my day. :)


	6. But I'll Stand My Ground

“Alright, drop whatever plans you got, ‘cause tonight we’re going out to have some _real_ fun!” Dean announced as he entered the motel room, carrying a pizza box and a couple of six-packs.

I looked up from my laptop. “I don’t know, spending the evening eating pizza, drinking beer, and making fun of bad movies together sounds pretty fun to me. So get this—Sci Fi Channel is having a creature double feature night, with _Frankenfish_ and _Dinocroc_. What do you have that can top such quality entertainment, dude?”

“Those _are_ pretty damn tempting, I’ll give you that. But it’s high time we lived it up a little instead of staying in here. And I happened to find _this_ on the counter at the pizza joint.” He set the food down on the dinette table and then slapped a hot pink flyer on top of the box.

I picked up the obnoxiously bright ad and examined it. “’80’s Night at the Blue Oyster’ . . . Dean, you do realize this place is probably a gay club?”

“’Course I do—you know how many times I’ve seen those movies! Besides, I looked it up on my phone while I was waiting, just to be sure,” he pointed out as he opened the pizza box and grabbed a couple slices. “It ain’t just for bikers and bears though, unlike the original. Looks like it could be fun.”

I stared at him. “OK seriously, where’s my real brother? Why would _you_ want to go to a place like this?”

Dean rolled his eyes and then sighed. “’Cause this ain’t about me, numbnuts! Listen, I get that you still got emotional baggage over Jess, and I ain’t trying to make light over how you feel ‘bout me either. But you haven’t let loose with anyone since she died, and it’s not healthy, man. You didn’t even respond when that Madison chick was clearly into you—and granted, it woulda made it even worse later when we had to . . . uh, put her out of her misery, but we didn’t know ‘bout her being bitten at the time. Anyway, I really think you need to relax and enjoy yourself with someone tonight.”

“It’s . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve had a casual hookup, and they’ve never really been my thing. But I guess it can’t hurt to check this place out and see what happens. What about you though?” I asked. “I don’t want you to be sitting in a corner bored or something.”

“Don’t worry about me, kiddo. It hasn’t been all that long since my little get-together with that grad student when we were going after the Trickster, so I’m not in urgent need of _that_ kinda fun myself. I’m gonna be there as your wingman if you need it. If you don’t, it’s still a bar—I can drink, play pool or darts, dance, maybe even try to make some cute lesbians laugh with corny pickup lines,” he explained.

“Sounds like you’ve got everything figured out. Okay, let’s give it a shot. Thanks for thinking about me,” I said with a smile.

He shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed. “It ain’t no big deal. Now eat up so we can get ready and head over there!”

My smile widened to a grin at his expression before hurriedly finishing my share of the pizza. After a quick but thorough shower, I took more care than usual with shaving and styling my hair. Dean took my place in the bathroom while I sifted through my clean clothes—we’d fortunately done laundry at our last stop—to pick out a grey undershirt, blue and green plaid flannel shirt, and comfortable pair of jeans.

Dean stared at me disapprovingly when he emerged from the bathroom. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“It’s the same thing I usually wear. What’s wrong with it?” I looked down at my outfit as I spoke, checking it for stains or rips.

“Dude, you can’t go to the club in fucking _layers_! You’re supposed to be trying to get some action, not bundling up for the winter,” he retorted in exasperation. “Lose one or the other, pronto. In fact, if you’re gonna wear a t-shirt, switch to the light blue one—you know, the one that shrunk a little. If you stick with the flannel, leave it open.”

I glared back at him. “Are you high? I’m _not_ walking around practically topless, jerk!”

“Why not? If you show off your . . . uh, _assets_ properly, you’ll be the most popular guy there!” he pointed out in a reasonable tone. “While you’re at it, put on some jeans that ain’t so saggy ‘round the ass, bitch.”

I grumbled for a bit before changing into the blue tee he’d suggested, which I had to admit hugged my torso and upper arms flatteringly, and a more fitted pair of jeans. “Happy now?”

He studied me for a moment, his lips pursed, and then nodded. “That’ll do, pig. C’mon, let’s get going!”

The Blue Oyster Bar was about fifteen minutes away from our motel. The exterior resembled a typical small-town bar, while inside was a near-perfect replica of the club from _Police Academy_. The most notable difference, as Dean had previously mentioned, was that the clientele spanned the full gamut of the queer community. In keeping with the night’s theme, Madonna’s “Vogue” was blasting over the speakers, while the staff and some of the customers sported teased-out hair, neon colors, shoulder pads, leggings, and other bits of iconic 80’s fashion.

Once we paid the cover charge, Dean led me to the bar and got us a couple bottles of Margiekugel. He leaned back against the bar, took a long swig of his beer, and looked around the club, then nudged me. “So, see anything you like?”

I surveyed the dance floor, and my eyes were quickly drawn to a man near the center. He was tall, maybe only two inches shorter than me, with a lean, fit physique, short sandy-blond hair, and a lightly-tanned complexion. He was dancing alone at the moment, but the attention he was getting from those around him suggested this wouldn’t last long.

I licked my lips nervously and coughed to clear my throat after gulping down nearly a third of my drink. “Uh . . . yeah, I guess. I—I should check out the dance floor after I finish this.”

Dean’s eyes followed mine, and he smirked in approval. “Nice choice! Go get ‘em, tiger!”

I tossed back the rest of the beer, set the bottle down on the bar, and began cutting through the other dancers. I reached my target during a momentary break between songs and said loudly over the ambient noise, “Would you like to grab a booth and um . . . talk? Dancing’s not really my thing.”

The man eyed me up and down, and his blue eyes lit up. “Sure thing! Follow me.”

We made our way to a booth in the corner and flagged a passing server to bring us each another beer. After we’d settled into our seats, he asked, “Are you new to the area? Haven’t seen you around before—and trust me, I’d remember that! My name’s Todd, by the way. Are you here with someone?” He nodded over to the bar, where Dean was watching us.

I shook my head. “I’m Sam, and no, Dean and I aren’t together like that. We’re passing through on our way to a job, and he brought me here to relax—says he’s my uh, ‘wing man.’ The past year or so has been pretty rough, so he thought I could use a chance to meet someone and have a little fun.”

Todd smiled slowly. “Good to know!”

We proceeded to chat for the next half-hour or so to get to know each other a little better. Todd grew up in this area and was an EMT working out of the county hospital. In his free time, he liked to read, watch old movies, and play with his dogs. I told him Dean and I were private investigators and gave him a brief, highly edited version of our lives before turning the discussion to college life and favorite authors.

By the time we’d finished our second drinks, his hand was resting over mine, and he suggested, “How about we go somewhere more private? My house is only a couple blocks from here.”

I turned my head, about to tell him I just needed to let Dean know we were leaving, and then paused. My brother was still keeping an eye on us, and his unguarded expression was absolutely _miserable_. Behind him, his beer bottle had been joined by several shot glasses, which was out of the ordinary—in the past few weeks, he’d been generally sticking to beer except when celebrating together or for medicinal purposes.

I stood quickly instead. “I need to check on Dean first—he doesn’t look so good. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

“That’s fine—go make sure your buddy’s okay. I’ll be here waiting,” Todd replied.

I hurried over to the bar. “What’s the matter, Dee? Is something wrong?”

“Huh? I dunno what you’re talking about, man. It looks like you and that dude are hitting it off, so I was thinking I’d check out that drunk bachelorette party that just crashed the club.” Dean’s tone and demeanor were nonchalant, but his eyes were still unhappy.

I grabbed his arm and dragged him out to the parking lot. “Quit with the bullshit! I can tell you’re upset about something, so don’t feed me any crap about being ‘fine.’ Is there something about Todd that’s raising a red flag?”

“Nah, he seems okay—I dumped some holy water in his first beer before the server brought it over, and he didn’t react. And you’re over-sized enough to handle yourself if he turned out to be a mundane type of douchebag. Besides, if something really was rotten in Denmark, I woulda come over and told you we hafta head back to Poughkeepsie,” he pointed out. “It’s a little weird that he kinda looks like me, but I expected that coming in here.”

“Then what’s up? Something is clearly bothering you, and I need to know what that is,” I retorted. “Listen, things have been really good between us since we had that heart-to-heart in Vegas and started being more open with each other. Our relationship as brothers and partners has been stronger than ever, to the point where even that Trickster couldn’t come between us. And I honestly can’t remember ever being as happy, even when I was with Jess. Don’t mess that up now by backsliding into that stiff upper lip façade shit!”

“I’m thrilled too that we’re so tight now! We’re best friends again like we used to be, and we work together like a well-oiled machine. Which is why I don’t wanna jack it up with my personal crap, at least not until I’ve had a chance to figure it out in my head,” he argued, trying to pull his arm free. “Plus you’re having a good time tonight with what’s-his-name, and I’m not gonna be a dick and harsh that. So you go back in and hook up, and I’ll pick you up later.”

“That’s not how this works, dumbass! How do you expect me to ‘have a good time’ if I’m worried about why you’re upset?” I used my free hand to make sarcastic air quotes while I spoke.

“Just leave it alone, man! I’ll be fine, honest—just need a little time to think.”

“No, I won’t. Come on, Dean! You already know all my secrets, so how bad could this be? Don’t you trust me?” I decided to play dirty and unleashed the puppy-dog eyes on him.

“For fuck’s sake, alright!” Dean threw his hands up in the air. “I got upset ‘cause I realized I didn’t want you to go off with that guy—or anyone else in this place!”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “But . . . why? It was your idea to come here!”

“I _know_! I thought I was okay with this, that it would be good to see you having fun and blowing off some steam. But the longer I watched you talking with that guy, laughing with him, flirting with him, the shittier and shittier I started to feel—and it _ain’t_ ‘cause of the gay thing. When I thought you were getting up to leave with him, it finally hit me—I want you to be with me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies for the over 2-month hiatus! First everything got super-busy at work, so I didn't have the energy to spend on writing when I was home. Then I was unexpectedly laid off due to "business slowdown" (despite everything still being so busy), and my motivation to write just disappeared. However, I started a new job this past week, and my muse seems to be cooperating again--so I was able to finish this chapter and get it ready for posting.
> 
> The first few chapters took place not long after 2.14 Born Under a Bad Sign, the episode where Meg possesses Sam (which Dean references in Chapter 2). Chapter 5 took place over the course of 3-4 weeks after that, while Sam and Dean were adjusting to Sam's secret being out in the open. A few more weeks elapsed before this chapter, during which time episodes 2.15 Tall Tales through 2.17 Heart occurred (as well as possibly other cases), and during which the brothers' relationship has become more open and stronger. The brief mentions that the boys made to Tall Tales and Heart should've indicated that those cases didn't completely follow canon here, namely that the Trickster wasn't able to manipulate the brothers into fighting and that Sam didn't hook up with Madison. I'm of the firm belief that things on the show would've been very different if the Winchesters were honest with each other and trusted each other more, and I don't buy into Wincest stories that set up a strong, loving bond between the boys but then have canon events occur unchanged. These boys may not have progressed to Wincest (yet), but they're still a lot closer now than in canon, and that should have a noticeable effect to their narrative.
> 
> Speaking of which, I know I'd stated in earlier notes that I didn't want to go the expected route of Character A confessing their love, Character B exclaiming "OMC me too!", and then the two tearing each other's clothes off, which is why Dean was accepting and supportive but didn't reciprocate Sam's feelings. However, this IS still a Wincest story, so the brothers getting together was always the endgame. Whether Dean already was in love with Sam and didn't realize it or those feelings developed unknowingly over the course of the past couple of months, seeing Sam with someone else apparently forced him to recognize the truth! The next chapter will go into Dean's revelation in more depth and wrap up with where the boys' relationship goes from there (which includes deciding how smutty I want things to get).
> 
> The next chapter should be the last, and hopefully I'll be able to post that in 2 or 3 weeks (since I'm still updating 2 other stories as well). In the meantime, constructive criticism is always welcome, and comments and kudos make me a happy writer! :)


	7. Won’t Be Turned Around

I sat down abruptly on the hood of the nearest car. “Wait . . . _what_? You don’t even _like_ guys that way!”

“And I still don’t—you could parade a buncha male supermodels in front of me stark naked, and it wouldn’t do squat for me.” Dean gave a brief snort of laughter. “But hey, there’s already a Sam-exception for practically everything else in my damn life, so why not this too?”

“Okay, but . . . when did you—stop, don’t answer anything.” I held up a hand. “We obviously need to talk, but not in the middle of a bar parking lot. Let’s head back to the motel.”

“Sure, man, but what about your buddy in there? Are you gonna just ditch him without saying anything?” Dean asked, raising his brows.

I shrugged. “This wasn’t a date or anything—we talked for half an hour tops. And it’s not like he’ll have any trouble finding someone else to spend the night with. This right here is _far_ more important.”

He nodded and led the way toward where the Impala was parked. I remained quiet on the drive back to our motel, figuring that my brother could use some time to gather his thoughts without any pestering from me. He in turn hummed along to his _Ride the Lightning_ tape but didn’t say anything and kept his focus on the road.

Once we were back in our room, I took a seat on the bed and waited for Dean. He grabbed two beers from the fridge, handed one to me after opening both, and sat down near the foot of the bed. He remained silent for a couple minutes, his expression less freaked out than before and more contemplative.

“Before you even ask, I dunno when all this changed for me, alright?” he finally said. “I meant what I said before, when you first told me your secret, that I didn’t feel the same way. I mean, I’ve always cared ‘bout you more than anything, probably more than most folks think is healthy, but I never thought of you like _that_. Like, it never occurred to me to consider you as anything other than the excessively tall, way too nerdy, definitely bratty little brother that I’d devoted most of my life to.

“After finding out that you’re in love with me and have been for years, I did spend some time trying to figure out how and why that happened, and I guess in the process part of me realized that you’d be pretty much perfect for me. You already know everything about me—the good, the bad, and the ugly—and are willing to accept all my crap with nothing more than the occasional bitch-face. There’s no one I trust more to not only have my back no matter what but also to let my guard down and be myself with. The fact that even _I_ can tell you’re smoking hot don’t hurt either.

“I can’t say for sure what happened without a whole lot more navel-gazing, but my guess is that thought stuck around in my subconscious, and that rattling around plus knowing how you felt about _me_ , and how much closer we’ve gotten since then, musta slowly changed how I felt about _you_. Only I didn’t realize what was going on back there until I saw you tonight with that Tad dude,” he concluded with a shrug.

“His name is Todd, not Tad,” I replied absently. “I suppose that makes sense, that this is something that grew on you over the past couple of months. What I don’t get though is why you didn’t just _tell_ me earlier, instead of trying to hide it from me. I mean, you already know how I feel, and you told me back then that you aren’t ashamed or disgusted, right?”

Dean nodded. “I did, and I still mean that. Considering all the gnarly crap we hafta do on a regular basis, some more-than-brotherly feelings is hardly a blip on the radar. And it ain’t like I’ve ever really given a shit what other people think ‘bout us, except for Bobby and maybe Ellen outta who we got left.”

“Then what’s the damn problem?” I demanded. “It turns out we both feel the same way about each other, so this should be a _good_ thing!”

“’Cause it ain’t so fucking simple for me! You’re the baby brother that I practically _raised_ , and I’m hardwired to take care of you, not . . . not take advantage of you! And yeah, I get it up _here_ ,” he pointed to his head, “that you’re not a kid anymore and can make your own decisions, and that you really do want this. But reprogramming my gut to not think this would be somehow hurting you ain’t exactly easy.

“Even if I could just flip a switch to fix that, it don’t change the fact that you deserve better than this, than _me_ , Sammy,” he added. “You’re so smart, with your near-perfect test scores and Ivy League college, and so good with people, not to mention your computer skills and everything else you’ve picked up. Once we’ve ganked the Yellow-Eyed Demon, you can become whatever you want—lawyer, teacher, _real_ FBI agent, you name it—and be damn successful at it. You oughta be with someone as good as you, someone like Jess, not a dumb loser who couldn’t even finish high school, can’t function ‘round normal people, and is only good for killing monsters and dying young and messy. You’re also a better person than me, one that sees the good in everyone and doesn’t like the scuzzy shit we hafta do just to get by.”

I took a deep breath, once again damning our father’s shitty parenting for my brother’s self-esteem issues. “Listen, I totally understand if you need some time to switch gears from thinking of me as ‘kid brother’ to ‘boyfriend.’ But the rest is complete bullshit—you’re _not_ stupid or a loser or any of that crap! You dropped out of school not because you weren’t smart enough but because you had to take care of me and help Dad—and you got your GED all on your own, which isn’t a walk in the park. You’re just as good with the lore as I am and are just as often the one to figure out a case. Not to mention all the gadgets you’ve built or how you keep the Impala running like it’s brand-new instead of forty years old—if given the chance, I’d bet you’d make an _amazing_ engineer or inventor or something like that! Don’t knock your people skills either—you might be a little rough around the edges sometimes, but you’re still great with victims and witnesses, like Lucas Barr, Ronald Reznik, and so many others. And I’d argue that you’re a _better_ person than me or even Dad, since you’re the only one among us who hunts for the right reasons—to help people, not out of revenge or obligation.”

“Maybe, but—”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ or ‘but’ about this, Dean! I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it wasn’t for you,” I argued. “You’re the one who taught me practically everything I know, from reading to riding a bike to shooting a gun. You’re the one who gave me the opportunities to learn the rest, from convincing Dad to let me finish out the term at the same school to scrounging to get me my first laptop to supporting me my first couple years at Stanford. The reason I’m better socialized is because you protected me from the worst of this life and did your best to let me be a regular kid, and I’m a decent person because I learned from _your_ example. So stop calling yourself a dumb grunt or whatever, because you’re knocking the man who made me who I am!

“And while we’re at it, there _is_ no ‘better person’ out there for me, okay? The reasons why I’m perfect for you apply in reverse—there’s no one, certainly no civilian and not even another hunter—who understands me so well and whom I’d rely on so completely to always be there for me. You’re not just the most gorgeous guy I know—you’re the best person period, and no one else, not even Jess, is going to compare to you,” I told him firmly.

Dean looked down, his freckled cheeks flushed. “Way to butter me up, dude! I hear what you’re saying, and I’m trying to take it in and—and _believe_ it. Not that I’m doubting you—I know you mean it! I’m just so used to believing that I’m like ninety percent crap, so it’s gonna take a while to convince myself that I’m good enough for you. So . . . can we take a raincheck on moving forward right now? I need at least a coupla days to wrap my head ‘round all this.”

I put a hand over his and squeezed it gently. “Absolutely! I want you to be completely onboard with whatever happens—and besides, a few more days isn’t much after waiting for nearly half my life! So how about this—let’s table this discussion until after we deal with the upcoming case. If you’re ready by then, we’ll figure out together what we want to do, and if not, we’ll postpone for a little longer. Does that work?”

He looked up with a relieved smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks for putting up with my shit, Sammy.”

“Dee, you’re my brother first and foremost, and I’d do just about anything for you.” I paused for a moment and then asked hesitantly, “I don’t want to push you or anything, but . . . is it okay if I kiss you?”

Dean didn’t say anything and instead leaned forward to press his lips against mine, his long lashes sweeping down to veil his eyes. I brought up a hand to cradle the side of his face and returned the kiss eagerly, reveling in feeling his full lips move against mine—something that I’d dreamed about but never expected to actually experience. Still, I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, so I pulled back after about a minute.

“How was that?” I murmured.

The blush had deepened over his high cheekbones. “That was pretty awesome! It was different than what I’m used to—never kissed someone taller than me before—but I liked it. We outta hit the sack now though, ‘cause the sooner we get started tomorrow, the sooner we can finish this case.”

It ended up taking a few days to wrap up the haunting at the _Hell Hazers II_ production set. We’d already been in Los Angeles for a couple weeks at this point, having agreed that we needed a break after the tragedy with Madison and therefore spending our time seeing the sights, going to movies, museums, and other attractions, and relaxing at the pool or in our room, when we caught wind of the unusual death at the studio. Despite being rather impatient to get this case out of the way, I couldn’t help but be amused at how much Dean enjoyed his role as an undercover production assistant and fanboyed over the lead actress—and was quite gratified when he turned down her offer of “private time” in her trailer.

As agreed, we’d avoided any talk of personal feelings during the case and had kept our interactions to the same brotherly level as before. I’d hoped my brother had spent some time on reflection, but he gave no indication as to what his thoughts were or if he’d come to any decision, not even after we’d said our goodbyes to the cast and drew and left the studio. The moment we walked into our motel room however, I received a pretty definitive answer when he put one hand on my chest, used the other to pull my head down, and proceeded to melt my brain with a tongue-laden kiss.

When he finally let me up for air, he smirked at my dazed expression. “Was that good for you, dude?”

I needed a moment to re-engage my thought processes before demanding, “Are you _sure_ this is what you want, Dean? You know how much this means to me, so if we do this, we both need to be all in—no second thoughts, no getting cold feet tomorrow or a week from now or whatever.”

“I’m serious about this, Sammy,” he assured me. “I’ll admit, I haven’t completely worked out all my issues, but I decided, fuck that shit! Like you said earlier, we both want this, and I ain’t gonna let a few small doubts hold me back from what’s probably the best thing that’ll ever happen to a schmuck like me. After all, neither of us has survived this long by not taking a risk now and then. So this is it for me too.”

“You don’t know how happy this makes me! What happens next though?” I asked.

“Right now, we both need to crash after being up all night fending off those spooks. I dunno ‘bout you, but the only thing I’m in the mood for is being unconscious for the next few hours,” he declared. “After _that_ , we’ve got tickets tonight to see the premiere of _Fracture_ at the Cinerama Dome on Sunset Boulevard, with dinner before at the ArcLight Café next door.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Is this a—a _date_?”

“Hey, we only get a first time once, so we oughta do it right,” he pointed out. “We can’t afford to go to a really swanky restaurant or anything, but Tara was nice enough to score me the tickets on short notice.”

“This is perfect, Dee—I don’t need anything fancy. It’s more than enough that you want to go the extra mile like this and do something special,” I told him.

“Well, okay then,” he said, looking a bit self-conscious, before ducking into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight change of plans here folks. Originally this was supposed to be the very last chapter, however the boys working out their feelings took longer than expected. Rather than try to cram that and their first time all into one chapter and shortchanging both, I decided it was better to split this into two chapters instead. So the next update will be the actual end and include their first "date" and whatever comes after.
> 
> Even though Dean doesn't have any moral issues about being together, I figured he couldn't help still having a knee-jerk big brother reaction of "Don't hurt Sammy!" in his gut. And of course his virtually non-existent self-esteem had to rear up to add to his dilemma, whispering that he wasn't good enough. Sam's arguments to the contrary helped, but we know this is something they'll have to keep working on. Taking a break to deal with a case (for the show's first "meta" episode!) to give Dean time to think everything over was important too, because I didn't want them to rush into consummating their relationship, particularly for someone who didn't consider himself queer before and therefore had never been with a guy--something which again I feel like too many stories hurry into far too quickly.
> 
> The last update should be in ~3 weeks, since I'm still working on a couple of other stories as well. Constructive criticism is welcome as always, and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. :)


	8. And I Won’t Back Down

I woke up several hours later to Dean singing something from Tom Petty in the shower. I cleaned up as well once the bathroom was free, and we dressed in our nicest casual duds—a soft, blue-and-green plaid shirt that brought out the colors in my eyes for me, a snug, dark green Henley with a waffle pattern for him, and fitted jeans for both of us. We then walked the few blocks from our motel to the restaurant, which took up about half of the ArcLight Cinema lobby.

The food was surprisingly good, not the usual cheap, greasy concession stand fare but instead actual chef-prepared meals. We ordered popcorn chicken and calamari fritti to start, then a spicy southwestern bacon cheeseburger for him and Baja fish tacos for me, accompanied by glasses of local craft beer, and finished with slices of apple pie and coffee. We then headed next door to the theater, where the movie’s somewhat improbable story was balanced out by the thrilling interactions between the main actors—and the bottles of lager and cider we were able to bring with us from the bar certainly helped. The Cinerama Dome, with its massively wide screen and advanced acoustics, was an experience in and of itself and made the movie even more memorable.

I wasn’t sure what Dean’s opinion on PDAs was, but he didn’t object when I put my hand over his while we were eating. Nor did he complain when I put my arm over his shoulders about halfway through the movie, and he was the one to instigate some heated making out when the credits started to roll. Nevertheless, I didn’t try to push my luck by doing something obviously couple-like, such as holding hands in public, on the way back to the motel.

“What now, Dee?” I inquired once we were inside our room.

“I was hoping you had an idea ‘bout that, since you got more experience with this uh, relationship stuff. I know what moves to make when I’m just looking for a fun time, but I’m way outta my league when it comes to anything serious,” he admitted as he plopped down on the bed. “This is too important to me, to _us_ , to risk fucking up.”

I studied his nervous expression for a moment, recognizing that his previous romantic liaisons hadn’t lasted longer than a few weeks at best, so this really was a first time for him. This put a warm feeling inside my chest, knowing that I alone could give him this special milestone. I sat down beside him, put a hand on his thigh just above his knee, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“First, chill out, man. This is _me_ you’re dealing with, remember? I’ve already seen you in much more embarrassing or compromising situations—like the time you had that _really_ bad chili from some nasty food truck—to be turned off if you ‘make a mistake.’ I’m not looking for perfection, so just be yourself,” I pointed out. “What I think we do need to discuss though is your comfort level with the . . . _physical_ side of this thing. I know you’re still not into guys, so if there’s anything that really bothers you—”

He raised a hand. “Hold up there, Sammy. Yeah, I still consider myself straight, but like I said before, you’ve always been the exception to my rules. I mean, I’ve thought you were beautiful for as long as I can remember, and I certainly appreciated how big and buff you got while you were away at Stanford. I just chalked that up to a big brother’s pride at how his kid brother had turned out up until recently. But figuring out how I really feel ‘bout you made me realize I’m into you as the _whole_ package, junk and all—which probably means we should call me uh, Sam-sexual instead, huh?

“And yeah, obviously I don’t have experience with someone else’s cock, but hey—I know what _I_ like in a hand or blow job, so I should be able to work out what gets _you_ going. As for . . . um, butt stuff, I ain’t _completely_ inexperienced. I’ve been with girls who wanted to try anal, and . . . There was this girl when I was like nineteen, Rhonda Hurley, who was into more adventurous stuff, including uh, pegging . . . and I hafta admit that I kinda liked it.” To my utter fascination, my worldly big brother blushed furiously as he told me that.

I smiled even wider and gave his leg a squeeze. “Well then, why don’t we see how things go tonight?”

Dean smiled back and reached up to slot his lips against mine. We kissed ardently for a couple minutes, while our hands roamed over each other’s chests and backs. He started impatiently tugging at the buttons on my over shirt, so I leaned back momentarily to pull that and the undershirt beneath off and toss them to one side, as he did the same with his Henley. I pushed him back onto the bed and began flicking and pinching his dusky nipples, while my mouth latched onto the side of his neck near the corner of his jaw and slowly migrated down. He gasped when my lips reached his chest and fisted his hands in my hair as I nipped at the sensitive nubs there, which in turn elicited a pleasurable groan from me.

I then dropped my hands to his waistband to unfasten his jeans and sat up to pull them and his boxer-briefs off. I stood to quickly divest myself of my jeans and boxers as well, before pausing to admire the sight before me, of lean muscles covered in smooth, pale skin dusted with cinnamon freckles, bowed legs and strong arms spread out invitingly, long, thick cock jutting proudly from its bed of curling bronze hair and heavy balls hanging below, and wide green eyes bright with passion and affection.

My brother eyed me up and down in turn and whistled. “Damn, dude! When the hell did you get so _huge_?”

Despite his best attempt at a sultry leer as he spoke, the consternation in his voice and expression was hard to miss, as was the flagging in his erection. Dean was hardly the first partner I’d had who was intimidated by my size, since I’d been frequently told that I was “more than proportional.” He was however the first I’d been with who was less experienced than I was, at least when it came to gay sex.

I climbed onto the bed and leaned down to give him a tender kiss before sitting back. “It’s okay, Dee. We don’t have to jump straight into ‘butt stuff,’ as you so eloquently put it. There’s plenty of other things we can do instead right now, and we can work our way up to more . . . adventurous things when you feel more comfortable.”

“ _Sonofabitch_! Sorry for suddenly turning into a sixteen-year-old virgin, man,” he grumbled, though the relief in his eyes was clear. “It’s just that . . . I only tried it that one time, and Rhonda’s strap-on thing was a _lot_ smaller, so—”

“Hey, I get it, and there’s no need to apologize! Like I said, there’s a lot more to gay sex than anal, and there’s no need to rush into anything. As long as we both enjoy ourselves, that’s all that matters tonight,” I told him, bending down to kiss him again.

He suddenly grabbed my shoulders and yanked, and I felt on top of him with a surprised cry. I mock-growled at his pleased smirk and nipped playfully at the base of his neck, then wrapped my hand around his member and began to stroke vigorously. He arched his back and moaned in pleasure, before curling his fingers around my cock and slipping them up and down my length, tentatively at first but soon with more confidence at my enthusiastic response. A sense of wonder grew with my arousal, for while I’d dreamed for years of being able to touch my brother like this and of him doing the same in return, the reality blew those fantasies out of the water.

Our hands moved hurriedly along each other’s shafts, slicked by the pre-ejaculate fluid both of us were leaking. Dean reached up with his free hand to pull my head down into another long kiss, his tongue pushing in to dance with mine. When he eventually let me up for air, I pushed his hand aside, pressed our groins together, and started to thrust, sliding my cock against his. He cursed incoherently at the sensation before he quickly got with the program, gripping my shoulders and rocking his hips in time with mine.

We rutted against each other with increasing urgency, our breathing heavy and our skin damp with sweat. After a couple of minutes, I shoved a hand between us to grab both of our members and began jacking them rapidly. My brother keened and tightened his grasp on my shoulders before abruptly shouting as his cum spurted over my fingers. I managed another jerk or two, then joined him in orgasm with a loud groan.

I rolled off to one side and reached down to grab my boxers, which I used to clean the mess off of my hand and our crotches and then tossed back on the floor. I slid an arm under his shoulders to tug him closer and asked, “How are you doing, Dee?”

He in turn threw his arm over my chest and replied, “I am feeling _awesome_ , dude! This is definitely going up there with my top ten!”

“Are you sure? It wasn’t . . . _weird_ or anything?”

“I’ll admit, it was different being with someone bigger than me, but in a good way—no girl coulda wrapped a hand around both of our dicks like that! Everything was so fucking hot that I didn’t miss the lack of boobs or whatever at all,” he assured me. “The main reason was ‘cause it was with _you_ , Sammy. Not even being with Cassie ever felt like this.”

“I know what you mean. For as much as I did love Jess, all of our time together can’t compare to how happy I am tonight,” I said. “This seems like a dream, the best dream I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to wake up!”

Dean reached up and kissed me, his full lips soft and his green eyes warm. “’Cept this ain’t a dream, baby boy—this is all real! It’s you and me against the world like we’ve always been, but now we’re together in _every_ possible way. It don’t get much better than this!”

I gave him a slow smile. “Oh yes it can—we’ve barely gotten started!”

I proceeded to shift down the bed until I was leaning over his groin, whereupon I bent down and took the head of his cock into my mouth. He moaned happily while I sucked on his glans and lapped at his slit, the hand not propping me up stroking his shaft, and gasped when I swallowed down most of his length, my tongue swirling around his member and my fingers now fondling his balls. He stiffened momentarily when my fingers slipped between his legs but then relaxed when they only rubbed his perineum, since I knew better than to push his boundaries too far so soon. He threaded his fingers through my hair and tugged in appreciation as I proceeded to give him the deepest, wettest blowjob I could.

Despite the fact that my brother had already climaxed not that long ago, it was only a few minutes before his fingers tightened almost painfully in my hair while he shot his load into my mouth. I swallowed it down and sat up, wiping the few stray drops of cum and quite a bit of saliva from my lips and chin. I started to reach for my own rather neglected erection, but he batted my hand away, wrapped his around it instead, and jerked it enthusiastically until I ejaculated all over his belly with a loud cry.

I managed to fish my soiled boxers off the floor to wipe him down and then collapsed beside him after tossing them away again. “How was that, big brother? Still doing good?”

“I’m _way_ better than good, Sammy! That was fucking amazing!” Dean leaned over to press his lips against mind, the kiss slow and tender instead of hurried and passionate.

“Dee, I need you to know that you’re it for me. I’m never going to leave you again—I’m not interested in Stanford or becoming a lawyer or the whole white-picket-fence deal anymore if you’re not part of it,” I told him earnestly as I pulled him into my arms. “Whatever happens after this, I’ll be with you for the rest of our lives. I hope you get that you mean everything to me.”

“I hear you, kiddo, and I do believe you. You’re all I want too—no more one night stands or girlfriends or shit,” he assured me, settling his head on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to give up on your dreams just for me though, so we’ll have to work something out after we eventually take out the demon—find a way to combine saving people with the apple-pie life so that we’re _both_ happy.”

“You’re right, because other hunters have managed to still have careers and homes and even families, like Bobby with the salvage yard, Ellen and Jo with the Roadhouse, and Pastor Jim with his church. There’s no reason why we can’t finish school, find jobs we like, and get a place together while still hunting. Or maybe even find some other way to help people, like your dream of being a firefighter.” I paused in thought for a few moments and sighed. “Too bad that we didn’t figure all this out years ago though—imagine how different, how much _better_ , everything might’ve been if we’d gotten together years ago!”

“We can’t change the past, so there ain’t any point in dwelling on woulda, coulda, shoulda. We’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” He reached up to kiss me again, and then gave me an impish smile. “Gotta say, this is _almost_ enough to make me think that witches don’t completely suck!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm SO sorry for the long hiatus!! Unfortunately, my muse went into hiding for several months partway through writing this chapter, and I suspect the stress of everything going on here in the US contributed to the problem. But now that things are starting to improve (hopefully), my muse has emerged from hibernation to allow me to finally finish this story.
> 
> Originally I'd assumed that this would end with happy top!Sam/bottom!Dean butt-sex fun like most of my other fics, but as I started working on this last chapter I realized that didn't feel right. Here we have a Dean who is not only pretty much completely inexperienced in gay sex but also not really interested in it (other than with Sam), so anal seemed like something they'd have to work up to, not jump straight into--especially with someone as well-endowed as Sam is (which is my opinion with other fics that go immediately there when one of the boys is a gay sex virgin). Plus there's the feeling that a lot of stories put penetrative intercourse as the end-all be-all of the boys' sex lives--probably because a lot of fanfic writers are straight women--when in reality there's a wide range of sexual activities that gay men enjoy. So instead Sam and Dean spent their first time together with frottage, hand jobs, and blow jobs.
> 
> Despite the brothers' discussion of the future, I have no plans currently to add any sequels to this story. I'm always of the opinion that the boys being in a loving, trusting Wincesty relationship HAS to have an effect on the canon storyline--you can see it here in the minor changes to some of the episodes mentioned and the more dramatic changes in my The Monster That You Know series--but I'm leaving it up to our imaginations as to how this change in Sam's and Dean's relationship might in turn change future events in this particular case. Of course, I can never say never to an eventual sequel since we never know when a plot bunny might attack, but for now this will remain a stand-alone story.
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this story, even with the unexpected hiatuses (I think going forward I'll wait until most if not all of the fic is written before beginning to post it, to avoid this happening again). If you're interested, please feel free to check out my other stories too. Constructive criticism is always welcome, kudos are highly appreciated, and I'd love to hear what you think in the comments. :)


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